


Catching a Falling Star: The Sprite's Roundel

by slimwhistler



Series: Uncharted Territory [7]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M, Phrack munchkin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-06
Updated: 2016-04-26
Packaged: 2018-04-25 02:10:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4942690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slimwhistler/pseuds/slimwhistler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a small Robinson comes home.  (I'm <strong>so</strong> inventive, right?  This will do for now, though.)</p><p>Now added: <strong>Chapter 5: Finding Famiglia (Concetta and Mac)</strong>.<br/><em>  In which Mac and Concetta bond over inappropriately named comestibles...</em><br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mother's Milk?: Phryne and Mac

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, all! Swooping in with a quick double-ish drabble, as I’m trying something new again. When I posted “Never Say Distinguished!” I mentioned that there should have been another story between “A to B” and that one, concerning how everyone adjusts to Ellie Bea’s presence. Well, rather than try to incorporate all the moments/vignettes I want to tell into a single chapter, and worry about how to get them all to fit together just right, I decided to have each instance to be its own chapter. Much easier, and more fun, and I’ll be able to update more often. The chapters could be anywhere between drabble and oneshot – length. We’ll see. 
> 
> The title references the last chapter of “A to B,” of course, as well as a line from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream”: _“Come now, a roundel and a fairy song.”_ A “roundel” is a multi-part song or poem, which fits as this piece will be told in multiple parts, and from multiple views in multiple tones. Thanks to **DrinkwaterDrinkwine** for the quick read-through and advice on the title, even though I made it as wordy as possible… of course. :p
> 
> Once again, characters are the property of Every Cloud productions and Kerry Greenwood. No infringement intended. Please enjoy this lighthearted first installment!

“Mac, are you absolutely certain you didn’t increase my morphine, because I’m **sure** I just heard you suggest—?“

“A breast pump, yes.”

“A _breast pump._ ” Phryne gave her friend a horrified look. “You want me to just... _lie_ here and be milked like a… like a **cow**? Feeding the baby is one thing, but…” She flopped back against her pillows as dramatically as her healing incision would allow, and fixed Mac with a narrow eyed stare. Mac gazed blandly back until at last her eyes began to twinkle.

“Not fair, Mac, really. I’m convalescing,” Phryne grumbled, aggrieved.

“But since I got you to roll your eyes and huff at me, I know you’re getting better,” Mac said, unruffled. “I could get my hands on one in a day or two, I’m sure, but don’t worry, you’re still getting too much morphine to feed her yourself in any case.”

“But if I’m still here, and on the morphine, how _are_ you going to send Ellie home? At least here the other mothers can feed her, and you were _so_ insistent that she be breast-fed.”

“Because it’s much better, particularly for premature infants, and I doubt you object to my goddaughter receiving the best?” Mac raised an eyebrow.

“Of course not, but you still haven’t told me _how_ ,” Phryne complained.

“Ah, well, your Aunt Prudence has that in hand. We put our heads together, and she’s had rather a clever idea.” Mac smiled enigmatically, enjoying keeping her friend in suspense.

“You and Aunt P plotting? Together?” Phryne exclaimed. “Now I’m **sure** you increased my morphine, Mac!”


	2. Because You're Mine: Phryne, Aunt Prudence, and Arthur

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Aunt P. comes to the rescue, and things take a surprisingly touching turn...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So remember when I said that this was going to be a story made up of drabbles and other shorts? Yeah, this chapter is definitely not that. It’s all Aunt P’s fault, really. It was only supposed to be about 1000 words or so, but then I made the mistake of pondering Aunt P’s motivations, and got hit over the head with a character insight all wrapped up in personal relevance and FEELINGS, and then it became this. More on that at the end. For now, thanks to **DrinkwaterDrinkwine** for listening to my revelations and giving this chapter her stamp of approval; it may be the piece I’m most proud of so far, but I really have no ability to be objective on this one. 
> 
> Once again, characters are the property of Every Cloud productions and Kerry Greenwood. No infringement intended.
> 
> And now, commence FEELINGS.

“Aunt P, what’s this I hear about you and Mac plotting?”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Phryne dear.” Entering the hospital room, Aunt Prudence bent over Ellie’s cot to adjust the blanket she’d brought the day before, which to Phryne’s eyes had looked suspiciously hand-made.

“Well?” She arched an eyebrow at her aunt.

Prudence gave her an exasperated look. “We were not _plotting_ , Phryne. I merely asked Doctor Macmillan’s opinion on a plan to get young Eleanor home and out of this hospital! You know the doctors have said she need no longer be here.”

“Were you planning on consulting me or Jack at all?”

“There’s no need to be so snappish, Phryne,” Prudence sniffed, giving her a wounded look. 

Despite herself, Phryne felt rather contrite seeing the genuine hurt on her aunt’s face. “No, of course not. I’m sorry, Aunt Prudence. I suppose I _am_ cross today, but it really is so terribly dull here, you know, just lying in bed.” As her aunt’s face softened, Phryne continued, “So tell me about this brilliant plan, then.”

“Do you recall that I serve on the board of Tremont House, a charitable home for young girls who find themselves in difficulties?” Phryne nodded. “At the moment they have a young mother there who is in need of…alternate accommodation, shall we say, for herself and her son.”

“ ‘Alternate accommodation?’ Why?”

“She has decided not to relinquish her child, and there is a policy,” Prudence said delicately. 

“They’re throwing her out because she has the audacity to want to keep her own child? How can you possibly support such a backward institution, Aunt P?” Phryne demanded hotly. 

“Now, I’m not saying that I entirely agree, Phryne, in the main, but I _do_ believe that the best way to change such things is from within.”

“The best way to change things would be to pull your considerable backing from the place entirely,” Phryne said sourly.

“And then where would all those poor young girls go, hmm? But at the moment that is neither here nor there. This concerns one girl only. Mavis is in need of a home, and you are in need of someone to help nourish your child until you are able to do so yourself. To me it seems quite a sensible solution,” Prudence finished firmly. 

“Well, I don’t agree! This poor girl has no alternative, and what happens to her when I _am_ home and on my feet again?”

“She has a cousin willing to take her and the baby in, but she’s quite happy to earn some money of her own first. Really, Phryne, she’s quite a sensible girl, with a mind of her own, and eager to help as well. I don’t know why you insist on complicating matters!”

“You can’t have forgotten those poor convent girls, Aunt P! They had no choice, either!”

“I would hardly compare your home to a Magdalene laundry, Phryne.”

“Besides, she’s a complete stranger! How can I just hand my child over to someone I don’t even know? Jack’s just started back at the station, Dot’s here most of the day, and Mr. Butler has his own work to do… there’s no one to keep an eye on things.”

“Well, I’m sure you could persuade Albert, if nothing else… he’s quite besotted with your daughter, you know.” As Phryne rolled her eyes, Prudence smiled. “That is one argument I anticipated, however, and the solution is simple: I shall install myself at The Esplanade to supervise.”

Thinking of the reaction of other members of her household, particularly a harried Jack, Phryne asked, “But are you really sure you’d be comfortable, Aunt Prudence?”

“Oh, I’m sure I shall manage,” Prudence said dismissively. “Besides, my house is rather lonely, now; it might make a nice change.” With that, she stroked the battered stuffed tiger that sat at the end of Ellie’s cot. It had belonged to Arthur, Aunt P had told her yesterday, rather mistily; he had been convinced that it “chased the bad dreams away,” and Aunt Prudence had insisted that he would have wanted his new young cousin to have it.

Seeing the wistful gesture, Phryne could do nothing but acquiesce. “In that case, I’d be very grateful. You know there’s no one to whom I’d rather trust Ellie than you.”

“Good.” Her aunt smiled in satisfaction. “Now then, I shall—“

“But the arrangements **will** have to wait until I’ve spoken to Mavis myself. I won’t agree until then.”

To her surprise, Aunt Prudence merely nodded as though she had been expecting this turn of events all along. “Go ahead, then. She’s waiting in the corridor outside.”

“Not with her baby, surely?”

“Good heavens, no! Mrs. Collins is minding young Randall this afternoon.”

So that was why Dot had disappeared after lunch. “Really, Aunt Prudence, don’t you think that’s just a trifle heavy-handed?” Phryne exclaimed, all her previous sympathy now obscured by irritation at her aunt’s sheer gall. 

“No, I do not!” Prudence shot back fiercely. “Phryne, every minute that dear child remains in this hospital unnecessarily is another minute in which she could be contract any number of horrible infections, and I shall not allow that to happen, not while there is breath left in my body to prevent it. There has been too much loss in this family already.” Her voice wavered, and she gave a loud, agitated sniff. “Now, I shall fetch Mavis, and then you may question her to your heart’s content.”

“Oh, Aunt P, I…”

“Enough, Phryne. Goodness knows what the poor girl has heard already. I’m surprised Ellie hasn’t woken up.” She crossed to the door, opening it to reveal a young girl of no more than 18, with an apprehensive expression on her broad, freckled face. “Come in, Mavis. Mavis Henson, meet my niece, Phryne Fisher. Now,” she said briskly, “I believe I shall go and see if someone has finally managed to make a decent cup of tea in this hospital. I don’t expect so, but one can always hope.” With a glance between the two of them, she departed.

In the wake of Aunt Prudence’s exit, Mavis shifted uneasily from foot to foot. “Miss, if you’d rather I go, I understand,” she offered hesitantly.

Phryne sighed. “No, of course not, Mavis. Do sit down. I’m sorry I’ve been so rude; I do seem to get out of sorts rather easily these days.”

“Well, that’s no wonder, miss,” Mavis replied, sitting on the chair next to Ellie’s cot. “I felt bad enough, and I only had my baby the usual way. I can’t imagine having him cut out of me and then having to lie here for days on end.” Her cheeks flushed as she realized what she said. “Oh, I’m sorry. I do tend to go on when I’m nervous.”

“Well, I wouldn’t recommend it, that’s for certain,” Phryne said wryly. “And there’s no need to be nervous, I promise I’m not frightening.” Endeavoring to make the young girl more comfortable, she inquired, “How old is your little boy?”

“Not six weeks yet, miss.”

“Randall, Aunt Prudence said he’s called?”

Mavis’s eyes brightened as she nodded. “Randy, that’s right, miss. He’s a happy little tyke, he is.”

“You both need a place to stay?”

Mavis looked down. “They don’t want me at the home anymore. They say I’ll unsettle the others with my selfish behavior.”

“Oh, good grief,” Phryne muttered under her breath.

“It’s not as though I want to start a revolution, I just want to keep my baby. I did think I’d give him up, miss, really I did, but then I looked at him, and he looked at me, and he was…he was **mine** , d’you see?” she asked earnestly, almost pleading. 

Poor child. Phryne imagined she’d repeated the entreaty countless times over the past six weeks. Yes, Phryne did see. As uncertain as she was about most matters of motherhood, she knew Ellie was hers, hers and Jack’s, with a certainty that was bone-deep. She could never relinquish her now.

“Yes, I see,” she said softly. At the girl’s relieved smile, she pressed, “But you _do_ have someone willing to take you in?”

“My mum’s cousin. Haven’t seen her in years, but I remember she was kind. I dunno how she heard, but she wrote to me, said she admired a girl with gumption and could use the help besides, and would be glad of the company. She’s got a boarding house out in the country,” Mavis explained. “I guess it’s not much, not compared with your place, miss, but it’s somewhere I’m wanted, and that’s enough for me.”

Smiling a bit at the forthright tone, Phryne asked, “And you couldn’t go there now?”

“She didn’t have the fare to spare, miss, and I’ve not got two pennies to rub together, of course.”

“I’ll gladly pay for your ticket, Mavis. You needn’t feel as though you **have** to do this for me. That’s the last thing I’d want.”

“That’s very kind of you, but I’d rather you didn’t. I’ve rather had it up to here with charity at the moment, miss, if you don’t mind my saying so; seems like people always think you owe them something afterwards.” Mavis reddened again. “Not that I think you would, miss,” she continued hastily, “but I’d rather know where I stand straight off. ‘Sides, I’d like to feel I’m on my own two feet again, and if I can put some by for later, even better. And I’d like to help,” she added sincerely, peering down at Ellie. “She’s a sweet little thing, and it’s not as though there’s not plenty to spare, even with my Randy being such a greedy one. Some days it’s all I can do not to fall asleep while he’s feeding. I wouldn’t trade him, though, not for all the tea in China,” she finished staunchly.

Something settled in Phryne. She liked this girl, this woman, with her blunt words and friendly face, her stubborn spirit and fierce love for her son. If Mavis wanted her independence, who better than Phryne to help her on her way? “Well, Mavis, I do believe I’ve heard all I need to. I have just one question for you: When can you start?”

A grin like a sunbeam stretched across Mavis’s face. “Any time you like, miss! Randy’s already at your house with Mrs. Collins, and as long as I’ve got him, I’ve got everything I need.” She jumped up, bobbing something resembling a curtsy, and Phryne, with a grin of her own, shook her head. 

“I’m sure someone can collect your things. And there’s no need for that, Mavis. We shall do as modern women do, and shake on it.” As their hands clasped, Aunt Prudence entered the room once more, smiling approvingly at the sight that greeted her. 

After more enthusiastic thanks and smiles, Prudence persuaded Mavis to go and wait by the car, and Phryne was able to ask a question that had suddenly coalesced in her mind. “Aunt Prudence, why did you want to help Mavis? I know that you said it was for Ellie’s sake, but that’s not all it was, was it?”

Her aunt’s answering gaze was somehow both somber and resolute. “That young lady has chosen a hard path, Phryne. Whether she chooses to hide behind a deception or face the world head-on, eventually she will have to contend with the disapprobation of society. She knows this, and yet she is adamant about keeping her child. Part of me cannot help but think she’s made a foolish choice, but a far greater part of me admires her resolve. I remember how it was, you see, when we began to realize about Arthur.”

“Mother spoke a few times about how hard you fought the doctors, to keep him with you. She said she never really understood until after we lost Janey.”

“Everyone said it would be better for him to be sent away, where he could be ‘properly’ cared for, better for us to forget.” She sighed deeply.

“No one could’ve been better for him than you, Aunt P,” Phryne said, tears pricking her eyes.

Aunt P smiled sadly. “Perhaps, perhaps not. But I simply couldn’t, you see. He was mine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, that definitely wasn’t all going to be communicated in a drabble, you know? So many FEELINGS. See, I was trying to figure out why Aunt P might help Mavis, other than simply to achieve her own ends. She’s a very compassionate and tender one, deep underneath that “society dragon” façade, so I wanted part of her motivation to come from somewhere else. I was trying to connect the dots, and then all of a sudden it hit me: **Arthur.**
> 
> Now, I’ve always had a very soft spot for Arthur. From his “symptoms” I’ve always suspected he had cerebral palsy, as I do as well, in fact, although as CP can really run the gamut it’s hard to know for sure with Arthur. I know some people have issues as to how he’s portrayed in the narrative, or see Phryne’s treatment of him as condescending (for my part, it’s never struck me that way; I’ve always seen it as yet another instance of her meeting someone on his own terms, while still recognizing his value as a human being.) Before we knew that he died, I had always imagined him being really excited about his new young cousin, and proudly presenting her with his stuffed tiger; I’d even considered keeping him alive in my series just because of that, but 3x06 just gave us too many lovely insights into both Aunt P and Bert, so I decided to stick with show canon. 
> 
> When you really sit and think about it, do you know HOW HARD Prudence would have had to fight to keep Arthur at home? Doctors, well-meaning friends… everyone would have probably tried to insist that sending him away would be the best thing for the entire family. Advocating for a special needs child these days is no joke, but prior to 1900? **OMG.** Like, seriously. It’s no wonder Aunt P is a battleaxe, okay? She had **NO CHOICE.**
> 
> So yeah, that hit me really hard, and I had all the FEELINGS, and then came this. This was really personal for me, in a way, so if you enjoyed I’d love to hear.


	3. Dumbfounded: Jack and Constable Purdy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein Jack wonders how Constable Purdy has managed to survive so long...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Returning to the drabble-y format I originally intended, here’s the next bit for you: Jack once again has a run in with young Constable Purdy, whom he set down so excellently in [**Calling Inspector Fisher**](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4612689). This one requires a bit of suspension of disbelief, I think, but it’s fun. :-) No beta, as I’ve been mulling this one over for months and it’s so short besides, so all mistakes are mine. Enjoy!

“Come in!” Jack barked, then winced. He didn’t mean to sound quite so stern, but good lord, he was tired. He spent his evenings trying to amuse Phryne, who chafed against her hospital convalescence more and more each day. He didn’t mind; he found it infinitely preferable to those days where Phryne had willingly laid still, her face wan and tight with pain, but now even draughts and Shakespeare seemed to be losing their charms, and Jack was fast running out of novel diversions. And then, when he finally did go home to a meal and his bed, it was to a house where two infants were still settling in. Mavis and Mrs. Stanley did their best, of course, but young Randy certainly **could** howl when he was hungry, and that usually set off Ellie Bea, whether she was hungry or not. Despite himself, Jack’s mouth quirked up as it always seemed to at the thought of his sprite; perhaps he really _was_ as besotted as Phryne claimed.

When he saw who entered his office, however, Jack stopped feeling so sorry for his tone. “New reports for you, sir,” announced Constable Purdy.

“Thank you, Constable.”

Despite the dismissive tone, Purdy lingered. “Good to have you back, sir; certainly hasn’t been the same around here without you. Miss Fisher home from hospital yet, sir?”

“No, not quite yet, but the baby is, of course.”

“That’s right. A girl, was it, sir?” Purdy offered a sympathetic smile. “And here was me so sure you were going to have a footballer, sir. Oh, well. Next time, eh?”

With that, Purdy left the office, totally unconcerned. It was perhaps fortunate for him that he didn’t turn back as he exited, for if he had he might well have seen steam coming out of his inspector’s ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rather fear for young Purdy’s career in the police force; no one can be _quite_ that dense, can they? And then of course there’s always the chance that Jack might actually murder him first. :p
> 
> Yup, just a bit of implausible fluff again for your weekend pleasure; I just couldn’t stop imagining the scene. Next up should be Constable Weatherly restoring Jack’s faith in the new generation of young police officers, and after that some Phrack (finally!) as Phryne comes home.


	4. The Least We Can Do: Jack and Constable Weatherly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jack has his faith in the new generation of police constables restored, and is almost brought to tears by a cricket ball...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit later than planned, here’s Constable Weatherly restoring Jack’s faith in the current generation of police constables, after Purdy’s blunder in the last chapter. Please enjoy!

“Sir?”

Jack looked up to see Constable Weatherly hovering outside his office doorway, and repressed a sigh. Ever since his encounter with the hapless Purdy a few days before, Jack had done his best to keep a low profile at the station, concentrating on paperwork and interacting with his men only when absolutely necessary; he didn’t quite trust his temper at the moment. In a way, he supposed he should thank Purdy, though he’d never say so; Phryne had had to expend considerable energy the evening of Purdy’s ridiculous statement in calming _him_ down, rather than the reverse. That had qualified as a novel diversion for her, at least!

“What is it, Constable?”

“Just wondering if you had a moment, sir.”

“I can spare a few, I suppose. I’m anxious to finish so I can go and see my daughter, and Miss Fisher, so I don’t have long.”

“Well, that’s what it’s about, sir.” Weatherly shifted, and Jack noticed the parcel wrapped in brown paper in his hand. “I’ve got a gift for you, sir, well, for your daughter, more like.” He smiled. “Ellie Bea, isn’t it?”

Jack, rather startled, nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

Weatherly held up the package. “Shall I just leave it then, sir?”

“No, come in, of course.” Weatherly, still a bit ill at ease, entered and put the package on his desk with a nod. “Shall I open it now, then?”

“If you like, sir.”

Jack undid the string, folding back the paper to reveal three tiny cardigans, each with a different motif embroidered in the upper left corner. The periwinkle had a crescent moon and clouds, the soft green a flower, and the lilac--the lilac was adorned with a cheerful honeybee.

Absurdly touched, Jack looked up at the young constable with a smile. “These are lovely, Weatherly. Thank you, that’s incredibly kind of you.”

“Well, the credit’s my sister’s, sir, but I’ll pass the thanks along.”

“I’m ashamed to say I didn’t even know you had a sister, Weatherly,” Jack said with a frown.

“That’s all right, sir. I haven’t been here that long, and goodness knows you’ve had a time of it these past months, sir.”

“Still. And she made these?”

“Her idea, sir. She was always going to do something, but after this month I couldn’t have stopped her if I’d tried. Josie was as worried as the rest of us, maybe even more, really.”

“I’m afraid I don’t quite understand.”

Weatherly ducked his head, looking back up at Jack rather bashfully. “Well, I suppose it’s my fault, sir. I tell her all the “Miss Fisher stories,” I call them, the ones I know, and the ones we can get Senior Constable Collins to tell after a pint or two. She… well, she doesn’t get out much, sir. She had polio a few years back, y’see, and now walking’s hard, and I know it hurts her. She doesn’t complain, and she helps out as much as she can, sewing for a dressmaker at home. I try to take her to the pictures on my day off, but she doesn’t get much excitement otherwise, I’m afraid. Hearing about Miss Fisher always makes her smile, though. She was ever so pleased when I told her Miss Fisher was expecting; I know she was hoping it would be a girl.” He grinned at Jack.

Surprised by these revelations, Jack asked, “Is it just the two of you?”

He nodded. “Dad went in the war, and Mum died eight months ago. We’d been saving, to see if we could send Jo somewhere they might be able to help her more, with her leg, but after Mum…well, it was all I could do to pay for the doctor and the funeral, and hold on to the flat besides.” He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. 

Jack’s already high estimation of the young constable went up several notches. To shoulder all of that at his age without saying a word? Suddenly the lad’s serious demeanor and conscientious work ethic took on a deeper meaning. Still, he obviously didn’t like to linger on his troubles, so Jack kept his instinctive sympathy in check as much as he could. “I’m sorry to hear about your mother, Constable. It must make things hard at times.”

“Sometimes, sir, but there’s lots of others worse off. We manage, and at least Jo and I have each other.” Weatherly expelled a breath. “Well, best get on, I suppose, sir.” He turned to leave, then stopped, his hand patting at his pocket. “Oh, I forgot, sir. I have something for your daughter, too. It’s not nearly as useful as what Josie sent, and I wasn’t sure if I would give it to you, but…” He stuck his hand in his pocket and pulled out a worn cricket ball, then held it out to Jack.

“A cricket ball, Weatherly?”

Weatherly flushed. “Yes, sir. I know it’s foolish, but… well, I heard what Purdy said the other day, about the football, and I wanted to do something about it. Jo used to love to play cricket with me, y’see, before she got ill, and she was good, too, better than I was. She was so good the boys on our street didn’t even mind her playing with them, most of them, anyway. She even got some other girls to play, too.” He smiled rather wistfully. “We’ve got no use for it now, what with one thing and another, but I thought your little girl might be able to use it someday, and you could tell her about Jo playing, so she’d know it was all right. ‘Course, she won’t have much trouble with that with you and Miss Fisher about, but I just thought…”

Jack cleared his throat, attempting to hide any indication of the lump that had risen before he answered. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate it, in a few years, Weatherly…of course she will.” An idea flashed into his mind, and he smiled up at the young man. “As a matter of fact, why don’t you hold onto it and give it to her yourself? As soon as Miss Fisher’s home and up to visitors, we’ll have you and your sister over for tea. I know she’ll want to thank you both as well.”

“Oh, no, sir, there’s no need—“

“Nonsense. It’s the least we can do, especially after your sister went to all that trouble.” 

Weatherly left with grateful thanks and smiles, more pleased on his sister’s behalf than on his own. Jack looked after the young man thoughtfully. The least they could do, indeed. If Jack had anything to do with it, they'd do a great deal more. He nodded to himself, satisfied. First, it seemed as though a telephone call to Mac was in order…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Phrack, finally, as Phryne comes home. Yay! ;-)
> 
> Research note: I may have fudged a bit, in terms of the treatments available for polio in the late 1920s. Physical therapy as a rehabilitation method only started to come into widespread vogue following WWI, according to my research, and as a treatment for the effects of polio it took a bit longer. Australian nurse Sister Elizabeth Kenny, who famously advocated massage and exercise as an alternative to the more “standard” treatment of bracing, immobilization, and bedrest for polio victims, didn’t start _concentrating_ on polio in particular until 1929 – 1930, as far as I can tell. The Warm Springs Foundation in the US, prompted by Roosevelt’s visits to the area, wasn’t established until 1926. More directly related to what Constable Weatherly and his mother were hoping to do for Josie, what was then known as the “Wilson Home for Crippled Children” in Auckland, NZ didn’t open until 1937. So, I’m not precisely sure what options may have existed in terms of rehabilitation for someone like Josie between 1928 – 1930 in Australia, which is why I left it vague in the story itself, but I still wanted Weatherly to be able to mention it for reasons alluded to at the end of the chapter. :-)


	5. Finding Famiglia (Concetta and Mac)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mac and Concetta bond over inappropriately named comestibles...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short ficlet to break the writing drought! (Darn dissertation..whether I’m working on it or feeling guilty about _not_ working on it, it prevents fic writing. Boo.) This is not the piece I thought I’d break the writing drought with, but that’s how these things work it seems. ;-) Thanks to **DrinkwaterDrinkwine** for looking it over, to **spitfirealiceagra** and **michele02132** for giving me suggestions as to what delicacies might be found in Concetta’s basket (sorry I couldn’t do ALL your delicious suggestions justice!), and to **kivrin** for encouraging me to indulge myself and pretend that puttanesca sauce was around in 1930! Mac and I thank you!

In front of the entrance to the Women’s Hospital, Concetta Fabrizzi paused, gathering herself. Though Phryne Fisher had been a patient for nearly 3 weeks, Concetta had not imagined visiting her here. Despite having seen Phryne and Jack socially several times since their wedding, she did not consider herself such a close friend that a visit would not be an intrusion, especially given her past… _history_ with Gianni. Though her conversation with Phryne at the wedding luncheon had laid any uncertainties between them on that score to rest, Concetta still felt that her presence might give rise to some awkwardness, and that was the last thing that Phryne or Gianni needed at the moment. There would be plenty of time for her to visit once Phryne returned home and felt up to company.

However, when she had gone by The Esplanade this morning to drop off her latest basket of treats (Mr. Butler was more than capable of looking after the household in that regard, of course, but Concetta needed to do _something_ to help), she’d learned that everyone was at the hospital, Phryne having apparently contracted some sort of infection a few days before. Though Mr. Butler had appeared as sanguine as ever, Concetta had detected a note of worry in his tone, which had told her all she needed to know. She’d wondered why he was not at the hospital himself, under the circumstances, but then an infant’s sudden wail reminded her of the presence of young Mavis and the children; he’d clearly stayed behind to keep an eye on things. After thanking him and advising him that the _arancini_ would need to be rewarmed, and ensuring that he’d persuade Mavis to try some of the _pizzelle_ she’d baked especially, she’d hurried home to prepare another basket to take to the hospital. Given that she’d included mainly _antispasti_ , things that could be eaten easily and quickly, she should have been able to set out again almost immediately, but she hadn’t been able to resist preparing Gianni’s favorite. She couldn’t imagine him taking much pleasure in food at the moment, but perhaps this would at least entice him to eat; he’d looked far too thin when she’d seen him briefly the week before.

Entering the hospital, she inquired after Phryne’s room and made her way to the appropriate corridor, confident she would be able to find the right place given all the people who would be loitering outside the door. When she got there, however, there was no one, and Concetta wondered whether she’d made a wrong turn until she saw Dr. Macmillan come into the hall.

Although the doctor’s clothing was rumpled and she looked weary, her eyes lit with recognition when she spied Concetta. “Mrs. Fabrizzi, isn’t it? Jack’s friend.”

“ _Si._ I went to the house today and Mr. Butler said they were all here, so I thought perhaps to bring some food, but…”

“Phryne’s fever broke about an hour ago, so I sent everyone home. They’d been haunting the halls for days.”

Concetta let out a breath in sudden relief. “Ah, this is good news. And she will be fine?”

“Should be,” Mac answered, nodding. “Trust Phryne to wait until we were all breathing a bit easier, though. We were prepared for an infection the first week or so, but…” Mac trailed off. Her lips quirked into a wry half-smile as she shook her head, and Concetta realized just how exhausted the doctor truly was.

“Jack’s still here, of course,” Mac went on. “He hasn’t gone home in nearly two days, but we couldn’t budge him, no matter how much Mrs. Stanley or Dot Collins fussed. I couldn’t even convince him to use the sofa in my office. He’s in there now, stubborn fool, stretched between two chairs. I can’t say I blame him entirely; she gave us quite a scare for a bit. But I don’t fancy being him in a few hours; I’m sure his back will tell him off more effectively than any of us could, though. No doubt he’ll be hungry, too… will that keep till he wakes?”

“ _Si_ , it is only _antipasti_ , meats, cheese, olives and so on. There is the _puttanesca_ sauce, but with bread that is as well eaten cold.”

Mac opened her mouth to say something, but then she paused. “Good Lord,” she said, a gleam coming into her eye, “ _Puttanesca_? Isn’t that..?”

“ _Si,_ ” Concetta interrupted hastily, her cheeks flushing slightly. “The direct translation, at least. To us it is more, how best to say it, all that is left at the end of the night? The garbage, perhaps? Actually,” she continued, wrinkling up her nose, “I am not sure this is much better.”

“I think I prefer the literal translation,” Mac chortled. “I’d certainly pay good money to see Prudence Stanley eating ‘whore’s sauce!’ ”She gave herself over to mirth.

For a long moment Concetta attempted to look severe, but then she joined in Mac’s chuckles. “You should have seen Gianni’s face when I first told him. He very nearly choked on his pasta! But then he became quite amused, and now it is a favorite,” Concetta recounted with a smile. It had been, it **was** , one of the qualities she admired most in Jack, his readiness to find humor, and to _appreciate_ such humor, beneath the proper exterior.

“He _would_ be amused by that,” Mac said with a snort, but she couldn’t hold back a slight smile as well.

“You are fond of Gianni, then.” There was affection there beneath the doctor’s words, Concetta realized, similar to the way she spoke of her own brother on occasion.

“Well, he’s far less of a fool than most men, today notwithstanding, and usually far less irritating. And it’s hard to dislike a man who loves your dearest friend so well,” she continued more softly. “I don’t think I realized just how well until this past month.”

Concetta could only nod, for she felt entirely the same. However much she might have once wished for things to turn out differently, she usually found only satisfaction in seeing Gianni love so fully and happily. If on occasion a small, secret part of her still grieved, well, she had faith that it would pass completely given a bit more time.

She put aside her own musings to admit to Mac: “I am glad that he has such a family now. When I met him, he was so very alone. He is a man meant for _famiglia_ , Gianni.”

“Phryne does have a way with making family, that’s for certain,” agreed Mac. “Or perhaps it’s more that she lets them make themselves family, even before they realize it sometimes,” she mused. She regarded Concetta steadily for a moment, and then surprised them both by letting out a massive yawn. “Goodness,” she apologized, “I’d better go find some strong tea if I want to make a start on those charts before I go home. They’ve been piling up these past few days,” she said with a grimace.

“I brought coffee,” Concetta said with a smile, pleased that she could be of help. “It is in a thermos flask, so it should still be warm.” It looked as though her trip would not be in vain after all.

“Italian coffee? Espresso?” The fervor in Mac’s tone would have been alarming if she hadn’t looked so ready to drop from exhaustion.

“ _Si._ But you must eat something also,” Concetta declared. “You have been working very hard, and you must keep up your strength. Besides, one should not have espresso on an empty stomach,” she said firmly, tilting up her chin. 

Mac glared halfheartedly for a moment. “Oh God, you’re going to be the one who’s always telling people to eat, aren’t you?” she grumbled. “Well, I suppose you’re right. And I certainly can’t pass up an opportunity to try that _puttanesca_ sauce, can I?”

Concetta smiled broadly, and followed Mac down the hall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See? Mac and puttanesca sauce was too good to resist. If you’re interested, here’s what Wikipedia has to say about its origins: [Spaghetti alla Puttanesca](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spaghetti_alla_puttanesca)
> 
> Anyway, I'm still not entirely sure about this one, so I'd love to know if you enjoyed! ♥ And in the next chapter (which will hopefully turn up very soon, given that I've been mulling it over for months), Phryne will finally get to leave that blasted hospital! *cue collective sigh of relief* ;-)

**Author's Note:**

> Just a rather frothy first installment… I'm **so** sorry, but I just couldn't stop imagining Mac teasing Phryne about a breast pump. They were available at that time, although probably not terribly widely used, and these early versions look rather frightening to me, and definitely uncomfortable. I’m not sure how much was known about the benefits of breast milk at the time, or the fact that drugs/diseases could be passed on to the infant through breast milk; I do know that the use of commercial formulas and other prepared milk substitutes became increasingly more popular from the 1850s onwards. In fact, it almost seems as though formulas were often the preferred option over breast milk by the time this little vignette takes place? That’s what’s influencing the tone of the conversation, in case you were wondering. :-) For some historical context, see [here](http://www.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov/pmc/articles/PMC2684040/) .
> 
> (Oh, just in case, let me make clear that I definitely don't mean to cause any offense to any nursing moms or anything; I just pictured _Phryne_ as being uncomfortable with the idea of an "impersonal," intensely mechanical pump, especially as in my headcanon she's not terribly thrilled with the notion of breastfeeding in the first place. As she _is_ unfazed by the very modern "electrical massager" in 3x05, I could see making the case for her reacting more neutrally, but this is how I kept envisioning it, so I went with it. :-) )
> 
> I’m going to endeavor to do these in order, so the next chapter should reveal Aunt P’s brilliant idea! Now off to work on my Phryne–Concetta oneshot before **gaslightgallows** disowns me! :-p


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